


Never Say Never Again

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Spy vs Spy [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Assassin Stiles Stilinski, Assassins & Hitmen, Clubbing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, M/M, Nerds in Love, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Scott McCall, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has no idea that his sweet, dorky boyfriend is actually a spy known as The Wolf. But Stiles is keeping some deadly secrets of his own. Behind the smile and the sarcasm is a ruthless hitman with a job to do, if only he doesn't let his heart distract him.</p><p>Or, that Sciles Spy AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Say Never Again

#  **Last Night**

Stiles always thought Scott was beautiful when he was flushed and right at the edge of tipsy. Not that he wasn’t hot _all_ time time, especially when he was naked, but there was something special when he let himself go enough to drink. There was always some tension in the way Scott held himself, Stiles didn’t think anyone else would notice. Who could when there was so much to be distracted by?

He laughed as he fed his boyfriend another shot, trying to ease that stress and get the other man to relax, happy and pliant in his arms. It was almost a shame they were going out tonight instead of staying home where he could take full advantage of Scott. The best part of him wearing fancy clothes was getting him out of them. He’d almost laughed when Scott suggested they go to Loophole, he’d been wondering how he’d convince him to spend money they didn’t have and their quiet Friday night out at some hipster club. Luck was on his side tonight.

And someone had to die.

It was just a part of the job, it didn’t mean anything. People died all the time and anyone who could pay a Hunter to go after a target knew they were paying for the best. It wasn’t anything personal.

“Uuurgh, that’s awful. Oh god, it’s like drinking paint thinner. Come on, it’s going to be fun. I’ve heard Loophole is awesome and we haven’t been out in ever.” Scott complained. Fuck, he was cute.

“That’s because we’re broke and you have to actually wear pants once we leave the apartment. Are you sure you don’t want to stay in tonight? No pants!” Stiles argued just hard enough to be convincing, preening under his boyfriend’s attention. Scott might have just been part of his disguise, helping him blend in and slip unnoticed through the city, but it always nice to be wanted.

For a moment, he considered urging Scott to stay home. His target was nobody of consequence, and Stiles was sure he could sneak out without being detected to finish his job. It’d be safer for Scott. If Stiles was honest with himself, he’d admit to spending too much time thinking about how close Scott was to his world. Scott was a means to an end, but as Scott smoothed down Stiles’s collar and brushed the wrinkles off the front of his shirt, Stiles feared he cared too much. It only got worse when Scott made the best sort of promises.

“Let me take you on a real date, dude. I promise you’ll have fun and I’ll get to show you off a little bit. Everyone’s gonna be super jealous of my hot guy.”

“Pffffft.”Stiles huffed, ducking his head like he needed to be convinced, but it worked just as he hoped it would, luring Scott even closer, with another shot. Stiles slurped it right up.

“Besides, I’ll just charge it all to my Dad.”  Scott voice sharpened with a jaunty edge that Stiles doubted was intentional. It was just another reason to hate Asswipe McCall. He’d never met the man, but he knew enough about him through all the things his son never said. He had a file on him on his computer, and every now and then it got a little bit bigger. Stiles didn’t have a set plan  yet, but one day, when Scott’s voice caught and he laughed off an invitation to Thanksgiving, Stiles was going to be reckless enough to do _something_.

“If old man McCall is picking up the bill, then I say we go get our hands on the fancy stuff!” Stiles decided, but his celebration was short-lived.

“Like my butt?” Scott asked.

Or maybe their celebration had just begun. He grabbed Scott by the front of his shirt, popping the first two buttons open and making his boyfriend laugh. It was just a cover, Stiles reminded himself for the umpteenth time. He did it so frequently that he was starting to ignore his warnings, but Scott tilted his head to the side, baring his throat in a coquettish tease, and Stiles couldn’t regret anything.

He shoved Scott against the wall, kissing him hard, before pouring the bottle of cheap alcohol past his lips. It spilled down his chest, and Stiles rushed to lick it up, dragging his teeth across tanned skin and pulling guttural moans straight from Scott’s throat. Stiles made a show of drinking more, laughing to loudly, losing his coordination, but it wasn’t all an act, it couldn’t have been when Scott made butterflies dance in his belly and his toes curl with glee.

So much about Scott McCall left him perplexed, but Stiles was certain of one thing. There was no way Scott could have afforded that shirt on his own dime, so Stiles made sure he was still wearing it when he came.

Stiles had to admit, he did love going out and Loophole didn’t disappoint. The place was packed, air hot and filled with cheesy smoke machine fog, but it somehow worked. Everything was overpriced, from the alcohol to the barely dressed dancers, but with the bass thumping as loud as a heartbeat in his throat, it was easy to overlook the flaws. And then Scott put his hands on him, and nothing else mattered. It was a blessing and a curse all at once, Stiles knew he was letting himself slip. It was easy to pass himself off as the slightly nerdy IT guy with Scott’s charm and easy smile to sell it all, but the trick was living the lie without letting yourself believe in it.

He wasn’t much of a dancer, being good at killing people didn’t necessarily gift you with a sense of rhythm, but no one seemed to notice. As long as you were moving, then that was all that mattered. He pulled Scott in, stealing the wicked grin from his boyfriend’s lips and wondering just how far he could push. It was always fascinating just how far an innocent was willing to go to get what they wanted. He really shouldn’t have wanted to corrupt this man as much as he did, it would just make things messy when Stiles was done and left him behind.

The DJ blasted a new song and the crowd cheered, everyone jumping to the beat as Scott leaned in to press money into his hands. The words were lost in the noise, but Stiles nodded anyways when the other man tried to make his way across the dance floor to towards the bathroom. Scott always did have such a great sense of timing. If the line was as long as he thought it was, he could take out his target, grab a drink, and still make it back to the dancefloor before Scott even got his fly unzipped.

The door to the back stairwell had been sealed shut and Stiles _tsk’d_ to himself. Now this was fire hazard, that was completely irresponsible. The big bouncer in front of the door looked bored, his arms crossed over his chest and muscles straining against his tight black t-shirt. Size didn’t matter much if you knew how to hit first and Stiles jerked the man’s head back with a quick snap before dragging him behind a table out of sight. See? That’s what you got when you didn’t put people’s safety first, he really ought to complain to someone who wasn’t too dead to do something to fix it. He slammed his shoulder against the door until it finally gave way and climbed up the dusty concrete staircase to the second floor.

 _3, 2, 1…_ The lights cut out and Stiles drew a gun from his ankle holster. Right on time.

Stiles let himself back into the building through the closest window, fully intending on clearing up the upper floor before finding and cornering Daehler. Intel told him there would be a bouncer at the top of the stairs, but it didn’t matter. This mission would be over in two minutes. He spotted the man’s outline in the dim, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, and Stiles took his shot.

He was never so wrong. His every attack was countered, his opponent falling into combat with lethal grace. There was no way Daehler could have afforded this sort of protection, and he narrowly kept a set of silver claws from tearing through his face. It became clear all too quickly who he was dealing with. Stiles landed a solid kick, his limbs screaming with effort to push back his enemy. A fur coat would make such a good trophy, but he over-stepped and it cost him everything. Stiles cried out as he was thrown down a set of stairs, breaking his fall on top of a pair of bouncers.

He couldn’t find his footing fast enough and wasted too much time beating down henchmen. His assailant was slipping out of a window by the time he caught up. Stiles got a clear shot and couldn’t make good on it. He swore the asshole smiled at him before he slipped away.

Stiles intended on emptying his entire cartridge in that son of a bitch’s body, rushing after him as quickly as he could, but one of the bouncers wasn’t as dead as he thought he’d left him. Stiles snarled, cutting the man down in a spray of blood. He was losing precious time and playing against a dangerous adversary. Those weapons were a signature that could only mean one thing.

He was hunting the Wolf tonight.

By the time he made it down the fire escape, the alley was empty and there was no sign of the other man. Any chance he could have had was lost in the wail of police sirens and the screaming, seething mass of club goers that spilled out into the streets to escape the shooting. Stiles didn’t given up, even if his chances were slim and he was going in blind.

The Wolf had been a thorn in the side of the Hunters for years, some mysterious protégé of the elusive leader of Haletech. The Alpha, or whatever it was he called himself. There was a natural rivalry between a group of highly specialized assassins and a shadowy intelligence organization priding itself on security, but that asshole loved to send his people out to make a point. When the Wolf showed up, that point was often bloody.

Stiles hissed a curse under his breath and tucked his gun away, too many people around to pick up the trail and if anyone noticed the weapon, he’d blow his cover for sure. Damn, this was a bad sign. If the Wolf was in town, something big was going on.

He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to Scott. _Ran outside, r u safe? Meet @ door?_ There was no real reason to worry, but the thought of Scott out here while a monster like that was so close by touched a nerve. He didn’t care, not really. He was just protecting his current identity until he was ready to move on, it had nothing to do with the thought of Scott accidentally stumbling into something dangerous and getting sliced to pieces.

A frown twisted across his lips as he called Scott, the phone going straight to voicemail. No big deal, he was probably lost somewhere in the crowd and couldn’t hear his phone over the uproar. Stiles tried again without any luck.

It wasn’t the Stiles was _worried_. Scott did this all the time. He had a shitty phone from 2009 that only rang half the time. He always insisted it worked fine, and he wouldn’t let Stiles buy him a new one because he was thrifty or some shit and getting him to accept money from the rest of the McCalls was like pulling teeth. Scott had been wanting to buy a new phone battery for weeks now, too. Stiles couldn’t remember if he’d gotten around to it, but it was completely reasonable to assume that he’d run out of juice again. So it was fine. It was totally, and completely fine, that Scott didn’t picked up after fix miss calls  and hadn’t replied to any of Stiles’s texts. Or IMs.

 

> _In front of the vending machines. Where r u?_
> 
> _Pppl going home dude yor my ride ll ;)_
> 
> _Get it my ride?_
> 
> _Scott_
> 
> _Wru_
> 
> _Scott answer my calls._
> 
> _Scott_
> 
> _where the fuck are you_
> 
> _Scott WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU_

 

Really, it was fine.

Stiles just wanted to take a quick walk around the block, to make sure the Wolf’s trail really was cold. It wasn’t like he was calling out Scott’s name or anything. Maybe he freaked out a little bit because he couldn’t find Scott’s dumb bike, but that was only because it was a pain in the balls to catch a cab in this part of town. Scott had probably gone home. He was going to be so embarrassed when Stiles walked in on him freaking out and shit.

Except Scott wasn’t home, and the messages Stiles left on his phone were quickly devolving into incomprehensible yelling, and Stiles couldn’t remember, he honest to _God_ couldn’t remember, why he didn’t just call up HQ and get someone to put a trace on Scott fucking McCall’s phone to make sure he was still alive and well and coming home!

Stiles wasn’t worried! But when his apartment door opened, and a familiar face greeted him with bags under his eyes and a hopeful smile, his heart threatened to give out.

“I’m sorry.”

Scott just had to rasp the words, quiet and tired, and Stiles wanted to cross the room to wrap him in his arms. Of course Scott would be afraid, sometimes he forgot that civilians couldn’t just shrug off the violence. They weren’t used to it and it was understandable that he panicked. But he couldn’t just sooth his boyfriend, he’d spent months crafting this persona and the man he pretended to be was just as vicious as the real thing.

“I thought something happened to you.” He growled, refusing to look up at the other man, though he could see the way Scott’s shoulders slumped from his peripheral vision. “The lights went out and some guy starts shooting up the place and you were gone. You didn’t answer any of my calls, Scott. I thought you were dead.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worry, I screwed up. Everyone was panicking and I couldn’t find you, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You always fucking do this! You disappear and I think that you’re hurt or worse and I can’t fucking keep up. How hard would it have been to just answer me and let me know you’re okay? Or can’t you fucking bother enough for that?”

His laptop fell into the couch with a hollow thud. If he had a heart, it would have broken. This wasn’t fair, he could have explained everything in a matter of moments and reassure Scott that it would all be okay. Instead, he watched his friend flinch away when he raised his voice like Stiles’s words were weapons. All too often, people hurt Scott because he refused to fight back. Stiles hated that he had to be one of them. He rounded on the other man, hands clenched like he was going to take a swing, but really to keep himself from grabbing Scott and pulling him close.

Instead he shoved him back, and Scott never tried to defend himself. It was always like this when they fought. It was never going to be a competition between them, but Scott never even tried to defend himself. It reminded the agent too much of the angry bruises Scott sometimes came home to, the ones he tried to explain away with clumsiness and misfortune. A lot of the time, Stiles believed him. It wasn’t difficult. Scott wasn’t a very good liar, but the other times made Stiles want to tear the world apart.

Scott told the story of his father with lengthy silences and redirected questions, with how his first instinct was to make himself look smaller and how eager he was to hold on. Scott told him a little more about that ex of his, the one who’d come before Stiles, the one who _brought out the worst in him,_ and whose name made Scott turn away. Stiles had found them both. For someone like him, it wasn’t even half a challenge.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear my phone. I freaked out I was just-” Scott’s voice trembled when he spoke, and Stiles wondered if the only reason they’d been together for so long as because of the people he’d learn to hate.

He cut Scott off with a snarl, red in the face and trembling with rage that had nothing to do with his friend. “You didn’t notice your phone going off a fricking billion times?! Are you deaf? Are you blind?! I thought you were hurt! I thought your were dead! I called the fucking police because I thought… I thought…”

Then Scott stopped it. Scott stopped everything by bringing him in and holding him close. This brave, reckless, foolish boy who always managed to surprise him, Stiles never wanted anyone to hurt him. He was so sorry that he already had and sorrier still that he wouldn’t stop.

“Fuck you,” Stiles hissed, gritting his teeth as he combed his fingers through Scott’s hair. Even now he was trying to apologize, to apologize because Stiles was using him, and Stiles didn’t have the strength to face that tonight.

Scott agreed to his worst plans. Scott gave him everything he asked for and so much more. He shivered under Stiles’ touch and held him down when Stiles’s world threatened to tear him apart. Scott was nothing to him. He was _nothing._

“I love you.” Scott said, voice barely above a whisper, leaning against Stiles like his legs were about to give out, holding onto him like he never wanted to let go. In that moment, Stiles couldn’t lie to himself.

Stiles had never been anyone’s hero before, maybe that was why he stayed. “I love you so much.” It was terrifying how true those words could feel, no matter how he denied it. He bullied Scott back into their bedroom, the other man unresisting as Stiles slowly peeled him out of the grimy, damp clothes that had once been the nicest things he’d own. He soothed away Scott’s hurts, fussing over the ruined shirt and the faint bruising along his boyfriend’s chest without asking any questions. Scott was a master of avoiding them anyways.

He murmured quietly, asking permission for each touch and only taking as much as Scott was willing to give tonight. They sank tiredly into the disheveled sheets of their bed, Stiles kissing slowly across Scott’s collarbones and pulling the blankets up around them. When Scott returned the favor, stomach pressed warm and reassuring against Stiles’s back and dropping kisses along his spine, he finally lost the last of his anxious tension. It only took a few minutes before Scott’s breathing deepened. He was always amazed at how quickly his boyfriend could fall asleep, so completely trusting and exposed in a way only the most innocent could be. God, he was always so beautiful when he was asleep.

It was a sacrifice to leave the warm embrace and venture outside to report, but the thought of the Wolf stalking the city was too big to keep to himself. They hadn’t heard anything from the Alpha’s prize pupil in almost a year since that mess in Marseilles had taken out eight of the Hunters’ top operatives and nearly brought the assassins’ organization to a standstill. It was almost impossible to believe a single man could have caused so much damage and they were still reeling from the loss.

The boss was upset and as Stiles wriggled back down into bed next to Scott, he knew that dealing with the threat came first, no matter what the sacrifice.

#  **Next Morning**

“You sure you want to go out again today after last night?” Scott was (unfortunately) wearing his sweatpants so low in his hips that they barely covered the swell of his ass, but had thankfully decided not to wear a shirt. There was nothing in the world better than some hot, half-naked man making him apology pancakes for breakfast. Stiles knew he should have been the one apologizing for putting Scott through everything, but he’d decided to be as selfish as possible to milk every moment. He flopped on the couch, wrapped in a sheet like a toga that he’d stolen from their bed and didn’t bother trying to cover anything at all.

“Yeah, but just you and me. Somewhere a little quieter and more our budget.”

“So… free?”

Stiles laughed, making grabby hands for the syrup drenched stalk of pancakes Scott handed him. “You know us so well!”

Stiles took more than the pancakes. He tugged on Scott’s wrist until his boyfriend flopped into his lap. A greedy hand slid around Scott’s hips, settling first at the small of his back before sliding up the long length of his spine, urging him closer so they could kiss. Scott laughed against his mouth, straddling him, one hand still holding his spatula, the other balancing a teetering pile of pancakes. They would’ve gone on that way forever, if Stiles hadn’t suddenly become very sticky.

They broke away in a flurry of limbs, cursing and wiggling, and Stiles outright refused to do anything helpful. He’d rather keeps his hands where they were, even as he tried to lick up the syrup that was spilling down his arm.

“I was thinking the Art Museum. We always have a good time there.” And not just because there were a billion places to make out or that Scott’s student discount was their free ticket to the most amazing chocolate pie Stiles ever tasted for under two dollars, though that did help. Neither of them were art critics, but Scott loved talking about what he saw in the paintings. He had favorites and everything. Scott had kept true to his word and ditched class for him. Stiles might not be able to commit as much, but he was going to enjoy as much of this day as he could. “We can go after a little more of this.”

“Stiles, the stove’s on,” Scott warned, but he was the one leaning in, pushing Stiles into the couch while looking exceptionally pleased with himself. It was kind of the best thing ever. Stiles liked it when he was wicked.

“That’s okay. You turn me on, too.” Stiles said, but his boyfriend cackled, and dropped a sweet, almost chaste kiss on his mouth before squirming away. Stiles let out a plaintive whine, not much different than a starving man would in the face of a buffet he couldn’t reach. His buffet was wrapped in warm grey cotton, and it was getting farther away by the minute. “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“And clean up the couch.”

“I’m gonna lick everything.” Stiles said solemnly, but Scott was already halfway back to the kitchen and didn’t look back.

“That’s what I said.”

Stiles was happy to note that Scott had to adjust his pants.

As busy as they were, Stiles tried to make sure they could spend at least night a weekend together free from work or school. They didn’t always go anywhere, things were limited on a shoestring budget. He sometimes wished his cover came from a wealthy family just so he could show Scott a better time. What was the point of all this money if he couldn’t even spend it? It was too cold a day for just sweatshirts, but they both stubbornly refused to wear jackets. Besides, it was warm enough when Scott slipped his fingers into Stiles’s pocket to hold his hand, a hot Starbucks coffee in the other.

The museum was more crowded than normal, some tour group of bored teenagers wandering around the halls as they made their way through the rooms to find a bit of privacy. They finally found an empty bench in front of one of Scott’s favorites, a giant sweeping landscape by Thomas Cole. Scott loved the tiny people hidden in the painting and the two of them could spend hours making up stories about their lives trapped on the canvas. The only other person was the bored looking guard who hovered by the arched doorway, his attention more on the rowdy teens in the next room than the two young men getting cozy on the bench.

Scott stole his coffee as Stiles squawked indignantly, making a face at the bitter black blend. “You should at least add a little sugar or cream.”

“Not everything should be covered in whip cream, dude. You’ve got a sugar problem.” He teased, stealing a kiss as his payment. “Except maybe you. We should do that, by the way. I can pick up a can of Readywhip on the way home.”

“Yeah, and then _you’ll_ be the one to clean it up when your entire apartment gets sticky and filled with ants.”

“Then maybe I just have to be very thorough with cleaning you up,” Stiles dared, leaning in with every intent of taking advantage of Scott’s proximity. His boyfriend didn’t even try to hide his smile. “Gotta make sure I get every last drop. They don’t call me the Clean Killer for nothing.”

“Literally no one calls you the Clean Killer, Stiles. Literally no one. Literally.” Scott burst out laughing, drawing the tired guard’s ire, but that didn’t stop him from wiggling closer into Stiles’s arms. _Good._ That was exactly where he belonged. Audience be-damned, Stiles was going to take full advantage of this situation. Full and total advantage of it. He scratched his fingers up Scott’s nape and through his hair, making him tilt his head back, the perfect spot for Stiles to taste those ridiculously pouty lips. Then the Imperial March started playing, and it wouldn’t stop.

Scott laughed, inching away from Stiles’s greedy, frustrated hands. “You should pick that up.”

“Wha- no! They can wait. They know I took the day off,” Stiles insisted, but his phone kept getting louder and louder, until Scott reached into his pocket and handed it to him, looking just a little disappointed. Stiles swallowed thickly, and suddenly this ruse was just shitty. “I’ll just tell them to go fuck themselves. It won’t take long.”

“Oh just, _go.”_

Tucked behind a naked statue for his call, Stiles couldn’t keep his eyes from sneaking back to his boyfriend. He had a lot to answer for. Apparently his boss assumed ‘tomorrow’ meant ‘first thing in the morning.’ Even Stiles was beginning to think his answers were filled with more shit than substance, but watching Scott steal another taste of his coffee and make yet  _another_ face, he had a Hell of a time regretting them. It made jogging back with bad news all the worse.

“Hey, I…”

“I get it, dude. You can’t get fired.” Scott said, handing back his coffee cup with a sad smile. “I probably have to get going, too. We got a study group this afternoon, so…”

He shrugged, and Stiles felt like dirt.

“Stay at my place tonight,” Stiles blurted out.

“Two eggrolls and I’ll be there at eight.” Stiles would never take no for an answer when he could whine his way into getting what he wanted and Scott didn’t really want to resist. “Go, don’t keep your boss waiting. I’ll tell you about the guy in the boat tonight.” He pointed to the painting and the tiny figure of a boatman paddling down a winding river in the very corner of the scene. “I’ll come up with a good story about him.”

Stiles kissed him again, lingering over the taste of his lips and reluctant to let go. “I can’t wait.” With a half-wave of goodbye, he left his boyfriend and watched him turn back to the picture, already dreaming in paint strokes. That shouldn’t make him smile so much.

The sleek black car was waiting for him at the bottom of the museum’s marble steps, deceptively nice in its unassuming exterior. No one could tell that the thing had been modified within an inch of its life with enough weapons and high tech gadgets that even Stiles didn’t know what all the buttons did. The Hunters did subtle well, real power was on the inside where it mattered.

Stiles didn’t speak to the driver, resting his head against the tinted window as the city flashed by. The sooner he could get this done, the sooner he could get home. Not that it should have mattered. It was getting harder and harder to convince himself that he didn’t look forward to opening his door every night and hoping to see that Scott had dropped by. Admitting it meant that this had become a problem, a…  _relationship_. A cover story wasn’t supposed to become a liability.

They pulled up to an unmarked building and Stiles slide out of the ride, hopping up the steps to the lobby. A quick swipe of an ID chip against a hidden monitor let him call the elevator and he glanced up at ceiling, aware that there’d been cameras on him from the moment the car pulled up to the block. He stepped into the elevator, holding still as the scanners read his biometrics once the doors closed. The panel _dinged_ in a soft affirmative and the elevator silently rose automatically to a floor number not even displayed on the panel. After Marseilles, the Hunters weren’t taking any chances with security.

The elevator _dinged_ again as the doors opened and Stiles stepped into organized chaos. Most of the Hunters operated in isolation, completely cut off from the main Headquarters and communicating only through special codes to receive missions. An assassin was constantly on the move and working in self-contained cells meant they were harder to track or to stop. Most Hunters didn’t even know any others in their organization beyond their own cell, meaning they couldn’t be used for information if they were ever captured. Even their HQ had a temporary feel to it, like everything important could be quickly moved or burned, leaving no trace behind.

Stiles made a beeline for the office at the end of the hall, where his boss was waiting for him. They said that the leader of the Hunters was untouchable. They said that he was bulletproof, and faster than light. They said he’d been doing this job for so long that he knew every secret, every strategy, and every trick of their trade. Once or twice, Stiles heard rumors about him being able to walk on water. One thing was for sure, _Argent_ wasn’t talking.

“Explain,” he said the moment Stiles walked through the door. Stiles would happily admit that he never liked him. The feeling was mutual, but _Killshot_ did too well to hang out to dry because of personal matters, especially while their ranks were still regrouping.

“I could ask the same thing,” Stiles growled, leaning over Argent’s desk to look the man in the eye. “Nothing in intel told me Haletech was involved with any of this. You sent me in there blind with the Wolf.”

“But you’re alive.”

“Fuck yeah, I am, but so is he. Hell, I can’t even tell you if its a he.”

Argent crossed his arms with a dark look, already annoyed with the young man’s failure. “You’re the only one who’s actually seen the Wolf and lived, I need you to report every detail you can remember. This might be our only chance to get ahead of this and take him out.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Stiles snapped. “It was dark and the attack came out of nowhere. The Wolf’s good, I don’t think it was after me or I’d be dead right now. Looked like they were more interested in getting their hand on Daehler. Whatever that report was working on was worth Haletech sending their best, why don’t we just start there?”

“The Ghost already has the data dump for Daehler’s computer. I want you to help her go through it, we need to know all of his contacts to predict the Wolf’s next move. Dismissed.” Argent brushed Stiles off like he was nothing and Killshot swallowed a snarl. There was only so far he could push his boss without expecting a knife in the back someday and it was difficult to walk that thin line. Without a word, he spun on his heel and marched out of the room and down the hall. The Ghost never had an office in the HQ and it took some time to track down the other assassin.

“Your Dad is an asshole!”

“Well, hello to you too.” Allison tucked her long dark hair behind her ear and gave Stiles a smile. The deadliest killer the Hunters had ever trained was a slight young woman in a daisy print dress and dimples. If she wanted someone dead, not only would they never see her coming, but no one would even be able to prove it wasn’t an accident. Stiles was terrified and a little bit in awe, especially since she was the closest thing to a friend he had.

He leaned against the doorway, trying to look nonchalant and managing vaguely constipated. “I’m serious, Allison. He sends me in blind against the Wolf and he’s annoyed I managed not to die.”

“I’m glad you didn’t die, Stiles.” Allison said with infinite patience and the innate ability to sound like she was patronizing him. “And the next time you go up against him, I can guarantee you won’t be unprepared, because I’m helping you now.”

It was disquieting to know that there was a mission important enough in his hometown to require the involvement of both Killshot and the Ghost, but if anyone was finally going to take down the Wolf, it was going to be them. He knew Allison had been waiting for this chance for a long time, way before Marseilles. The Hunters were her legacy, and she would challenge anyone who threatened it.

“Besides,” she added with a lazy drawl that said too much. “I hear you’ve been busy with _personal_ projects. How is Scout doing?”

Stiles bristled all over again, even knowing full-well that he was being baited. “If your intel’s always that shitty, I might as well be facing the Wolf alone.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles, maybe you should give me another five minute lecture about his dimples.” Allison replied sweetly.

“He’s not important, can we just focus on Daehler’s computer and do our jobs, please?” It was a lost cause and he knew it. Allison loved to throw him off balance, she was the only one who could do it so skillfully and she never played fair. No wonder she was his favorite.

“Not important? I’m pretty sure I could recognize him by abs alone if you gave me a line up. You once talked to me for half an hour about the exact shape of his butt.”

Stiles sputtered, flushing up to the tips of his ears. “I did not!” He protested hotly. She couldn’t possibly be right, he didn’t mention Scott so often. He was a freaking professional, he used the people around him to do his job, nothing more. There was no way he waxed poetic about his boyfriend, his _cover’s_ boyfriend, but his heart sank at Allison’s knowing smile.

“Of course not. So, you aren’t spending your off time with Scout?”

“It’s Scott!” He snapped, knowing that he was caught and she won again like always. “You know it’s Scott. He and his abs are doing just fine, can we drop it?”

“Lighten up, you know I’m kidding. I think it’s kind of sweet, he’s not the type of person I thought you’d fall for, especially knowing your track record on these things. I’m not blaming you, I get it. How often do people like us get to meet someone who actually makes us happy?”

“He doesn’t,” Stiles grumbled, and staunchly pretended that he was super interested in the report on Allison’s desk about something that happened in Rome three months ago. Some guy died, whoop-de-doo. “He’s just really nice and improbably hot.”

“Improbably.”

“Yes, Allison, improbably. Do you need a dictionary?!” Stiles was extremely skilled at keeping his cool under fire and against overwhelming odds. The smile on Allison’s face told him she wasn’t even slightly impressed. “Besides, it’s not like he’s… Affecting my work or anything. Sometimes you just need to blow off some steam on the side.”

With leftover pizza, warm sheets, and a dog movie that made one of them cry. The back of Stiles’s nape flushed pink.

“Of course, Stiles.” She said, and there was no way on earth that Stiles could tell her he was thinking about how his cover could get away with buying them a ton of Chinese takeout, especially when he already spent his water bill for the month.

He huffed his reply, turning his attention back to the computer and sorting through Daehler’s files. There had to be something on here that would die back to the reporter. Someone like him had to get his information from somewhere and now that he’d disappeared, their best chance was to go straight to the source. He clicked through the notes and interviews, wincing at some really stalkery photographs of young women. This guy was a creep.

Allison sat down beside him and put a hand on his arm, drawing his reluctant attention back to her. “I’m not going to tell anyone. Don’t let this job screw it up.”

Stiles glanced up at her, but didn’t say a word. It wasn’t true, he hadn’t fallen for some civilian and she was wrong about everything. She had to be.

“I think I’ve found something, there’s one name that keeps getting repeated. Maybe we should talk to this Jackson Whittemore.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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